Having spent the best part of a month doing no more travelling than crawling from one Perth bar to another watching the 2002 World Cup, myself and three mates - John, Rob and Rusty - decided it was time we hit the road.

With our feeble combined budget of $1,200 AUS we scanned the local youth hostel ads for second-hand "backpacker mobiles". After inspecting several specimens it came down to a straight choice between a 1981 VW Combi and a more reliable looking but far less hip Ford Falcon. The Combi got the nod - surely it could make the 2,500m trip up the west coast to Darwin?

Things began smoothly, the only hiccup being the night the 18st Rusty fell through the roof bed, but mechanically it seemed fine. Until, that is, we entered a part of the state where you really did not want engine problems - the outback!

We were stuck in the scorching sun with no reception on our mobiles and no idea what to do. Having sat through one of the longest hours of our lives, we had another crack at starting her up; she responded, and we spluttered into the small town of Halls Creek.

Here, we got chatting to a couple of locals who told us the only mechanic in town only did business with Australians. Was this dry Aussie humour or were they being serious? We took a walk to the local garage where an A-board outside read: "Tourists Get Lost". Eventually, after a very, very long tow, we reached Darwin.